


A Life for A Life, for A Love

by deadpanned



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Book & Show Fusion, Bottom Jace Herondale, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Good Parabatai Jace Wayland, Jimon Brotp, Julian and Emma ares still parabatai, Light Angst, M/M, Malec, Post-Finale, Post-Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy: Born to Endless Night, Praise Kink, Shadowhunter Simon Lewis, Sizzy - Freeform, Slash, Smut, Spoilers for Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy: Born to Endless Night, Top Julian Blackthorn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-04-06 19:32:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19069222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadpanned/pseuds/deadpanned
Summary: Two years after Clary Fairchild's ultimate sacrifice of renouncing the Shadow World for the greater good, Jace Herondale is finally getting back into the swing of things. No more wallowing in self-pity, no more guilt-ridden outbursts, no more day drinking to rid himself of the night terrors that torture him, still. The New York institute's greatest swordsman has reverted back into what he knows and feels best—being a skillful Shadowhunter, a supportive parabatai, and something of a mentor to Ascended Shadowhunter Simon Lovelace (né Lewis.) He can live with this, he thinks.In this brave new world—void of his one and greatest love—where everything is almost perfect, just not quite.That is until he chances upon a certain enigmatic Californian Shadowhunter that makes his hands shake and the world spin a little slower.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> On the heels of the Shadowhunters' conclusion, I'm still licking my wounds while simultaneously trying to wrap my head around that ending. An ending that would have been a brilliant set-up for S4, but was ultimately just bittersweet for a series finale. With that being said, in hopes to rule out the reality that SH has come to its end, I've strung together some words that I essentially pulled out of my arse in a last ditch effort to somehow mend my own broken heart and maybe even yours too. 
> 
> Please note that this is a **_post SH & TFTSA fusion AU_**, in which ALL the events that spanned between S1-3B of the television series has happened (coupled w/ one storyline from Simon's standalone book wherein he becomes a SH and takes on the surname of his *spoiler* now deceased roommate and friend George Lovelace.) All you need to know about the latter is that **_Simon is a Shadowhunter ****_**and no longer a vampire.
> 
> \+ this fic kicks off two years after the events of the SH save the "YoU cAn sEE Me?!" scene never happened. Clary is essentially living her well-fed artist lifestyle in the mundane, without the Sight - and has yet to see Jace, let alone recognize him. 
> 
> \+ the LA institute has been slaughtered under the hand of Jonathan Morgenstern, thus the reason why the remaining survivors move into the NY institute.
> 
> \+ for those that have read this fic circa summer 2019 - yes, this is a rewrite (with hopefully a better pacing.) I'm so sorry for the wait!

༄ 

_You know, they say that there is a part of the human chest that if you strike it hard enough,_  
 _it makes the person’s heart explode. This sounds like such a lie that I have to believe it’s the truth. If I were_  
 _science, I’d never tell anyone where this place is. If I were science, I’d have named this place after you._

_― Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz_

༄ 

As time progressed—two years later to be exact, the Apocalypse seemed like a fever dream. 

Jace Herondale's world had shrunk down to having breakfast with newlyweds Alec and Magnus, drawing up new demon strategies with Aline and Helen at noontide and if time would allow it, he'd pepper in four armed and unarmed combat training sessions a day with Simon, throughout the remainder of his day. Come nighttime, he spent his time staying up, shadowhunting, and falling asleep as soon as dawn cracked over the horizon. It was a new life. One that gave way to shutting a blind eye at the political system still re-building itself from the ground up in the aftermath of Jonathan Morgenstern's havoc _and_ the depletion of operating norms between the NY and LA institutes or how tangled up they were in each other as of late. Jace had opted to tuck his tail between his legs and keep his head down through the entire ordeal. He wasn't Head of the Institute anymore. None of his business, he thought—which he supposed must have seemed a little harsh—but so often he’d inwardly scoffed at the drifting Californian Shadowhunters that were running amok, still finding their place in the Empire State, and he’d grown so used to his own haughtiness that he thought it was natural that he reacted the way he did.

So he didn’t think about it. Which was easy. The Californians kept to themselves more often than not. 

So. He forgot about the Los Angeles stragglers, very easily. Time did that. As did training, and reading, and mentoring for two years and thinking about training, and reading, and mentoring. He wouldn’t bore anyone with the details, but he desperately wanted to be the Weapons Trainer—eventually, which was just about the biggest cliche. The great shortcoming of Shadowhunters everywhere was that they only ever saw very limited paths to success. It was imperative for him to achieve this though, or else he was going to end up living vicariously through his siblings' successes that ultimately weren’t going to bleed onto him, or serve him any true joy or greater purpose, which was pointed out, very coldly, by Alec Lightwood. Whatever promise he held when they became _parabatai_ and better Shadowhunters, was left thoroughly unfulfilled, somewhere after Clary's death (it was easier for Jace to say that she was dead rather than dead to him.) The institute became a sort of warzone shortly after that rude awakening, constant slammed doors, dinners eaten alone in his room as he waited out for Alec’s presence in the institute. Isabelle thought this all foolish, and she must have convinced Simon that it was foolish too, because next thing Jace knew the boyish Shadowhunter offered to take him to the Graveyard Shift—a vampire turned Downworlder-of-all-likes nightclub, akin to Pandemonium (Jace didn't like to go there anymore, too many memories sullied that place)—for a night to paint the town.

“I got reservations at this fancy little place in midtown,” Simon said, plucking the stele out of Jace's thumb and forefinger, “for me and Iz.”

“That’s nice,” the blond remarked, blandly. This was something of a normal occurrence. Simon barging into Jace's room at ungodly hours of the night, as though he owned the place, and Jace letting him without scarcely knowing why. No, that was a lie. He _knew_ why. There was something about that shared grief that lingered between the two more than anyone else, that had cemented a bond between them and allowed this sort of behavior: watching movies on some backwater mundane website Simon would rave about, browsing through Maryse's bookstore, tagging along in ride-alongs with Lucian Garroway (reborn Shadowhunter, and Clary's surrogate father) when the opportunity presented itself and playing video games until the light of dawn.

They'd become, somewhere down the narrowing line, friends.

“She can’t go,” he said. “Obviously.” He tinkered with the long, slender heavenly metal-wrought twig.

Some lone gear in Jace's mind was starting to turn, very slowly. He drew himself upright on his elbows, body sprawled on his molten bronze sheet bedspread. “And you’re telling me this because?”

“Because I want you to go with me.”

Distantly, Jace conjured up an image in his mind of this place. Glitzy and sophisticated and vampires, and werewolves and faeries and everything and everything but Nephilim - save for Simon himself, the talk of the town. From Mundie, to vampire, to Daylighter, to Ascended Shadowhunter. There would be songs written about him, Jace was sure, though he'd never dare to tell him.

“I don’t think I would be welcomed,” Jace said, reclaiming his stele.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t have asked you if I thought you couldn't come.”

Jace glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a brave new world, Jace.” Simon tugged on a loose lock of hair at his temple, absently. He'd let it grow out, shaggier than Jace had ever seen, but fitting. “After...after Clary's alliance rune, things started to change. Whispers down in the Downworld. _Good_ whispers, that maybe the divide between the Downworlders and the Rune'd Folk wasn't so big anymore. Things are changing, man. And if you stay holed up in here, you'll blink and miss all of it."

“I’m flattered and all,” Jace said, which was true to an extent, “but why me? I’m sure there are other people who would be better substitutes for Izzy.”

Simon paused, as if he were seriously considering his answer. As if he didn’t ask Jace on a lark.

“Remember what you said, about there being no one else,” he said, his voice too casual to be casual, “because she was your One?”

“By the Angel,” Jace said. This happened two years ago. How did he remember? More importantly, why did he remember? Of all things, this? “That’s—Simon, has anyone ever told you that you have excellent memory? And that it's annoying.”

He lifted his shoulder in half-hearted shrug, rumbling up his collar. Jace had the wild and fleeting urge to straighten it out, but he didn’t. His gaze was half-lidded, drowsy, as it always was in darkness."You said there's no one. But that's not true. There is someone out there for you, Jace, you just have to look. And you have to find them. Because...because what's the alternative? Staying here, being a miserable ass for the rest of your life?"

"There are worse endeavors to indulge in," he remarked, wryly, "I could be in a band."

Simon didn't even crack a smile. Which was strange, for someone who generally had a happy-go-lucky attitude about anything and everything. "Dude. Fray would _want_ you to be at peace and find happiness, you know? Better yet, she would want you to actively seek it! Whoever this shell of a person that remains, it's not the man she would want you to be nor the life she fought for you to have. What you're doing here, lamenting about the past, it's a disservice to everything she gave up for you. I know it hurts, it will always hurt, it still hurts me too. But we have to find a way to...move on with our lives. If not for ourselves, then for Clary. So, enough of this woe-is-me crap. Okay? You're going to do right by her and get the hell up, get dressed, and have a grand ol' time tonight because honestly? You need to get _laid_ , man. Go get your life back." 

Jace, admittedly, misses his life. He’d been missing it as long as he could remember. It was only now, with Simon screaming until he was blue in the face, that he was aware of that keening emptiness. That hollow core of his body that threatened to stretch into something more dangerous, more desperate, more pathetic. It was a strange feeling, and it was new, and he only noticed it now. How hollow his life was, how much of it was a farce for something he couldn’t name.

Confusion, confusion. Jace didn’t think he could tell up from down, these days. Yet. He was so shocked by Simon's outburst that he said yes. This was, of course, an exception. "Fine. Just this once. If you’ll have me.”

“Of course I will,” Simon said, and his voice was warmed with pleasure. “Do you have anything nice to wear? Not too nice, just business casual?”

“Yes. Don’t worry about it. Where is this place, again?

“You don’t worry about it. I’ll pick you up.”

“Just hope we don’t see anyone we know,” Jace said, half-joking. “They’ll see us and get the wrong idea. Wouldn’t want anyone to think we're friends.”

༄ 

By the time night fell, it felt like the great wide open, like a time beyond time, where anything could happen and none of it would matter when the sun came up. 

The Graveyard Shift was a lair of luxury, something straight out of a gothic novel. One sweep of his golden casual gaze and Jace drinked in the formally dressed patrons, the dragging hands on walls and dancing fingertips on hips. Mythic lust bred by carnal craving and fatal attraction. This place, for lack of better term, was _hot_. And distractedly so. 

"-Type?" 

"What?" Jace said, only hearing the tail-end of Simon's question, over the thrumming of upbeat music ricocheting from the walls. 

"I said, do you see anyone that's your type? Any leggy blondes or cute brunettes catching your eye?" 

Jace never really had a preference, (redheads), he always thought it would be (redheads) unfair for him to single one out (redheads) and make the others feel unloved (redheads). So yeah, he liked all hair colors (redheads), and he told Simon just as much. "Nope. I don't see any wide-eyed redheads, either." 

Simon rolled his eyes. "You didn't haul your ass all the way down here to compare every girl in here to Clary." Under the chandeliers dripping from the ceiling like crystal waterfalls, the Ascended Shadowhunter's featured glowed in the reflecting shards of blue and violet light. Jace could even make out a five o'cloak shadow peppering the cut of his jaw. It was strange, to see Simon age. Even stranger to see him stripped of his humanity, then garnering it all back. "Why don't you get us some drinks, yeah? I think I see some of my Academy buddies, I could introduce them to you." 

Jace mustered a wooden smile. "Riveting." He remarked, flatly. "I'll be at the bar." 

"You know what I drink right?" 

"You don't drink blood anymore, Simon. You'll get what you're given." Jace called over his shoulder before striding toward the bar. The nearer he got, the more he could make out the dark brown, corkscrew curls of the bartender, and her honey-gold skin. 

Jace recalled Simon mentioning something about Maia Roberts moving on from the Jade Wolf and getting a new job at some high-end place, so the blond didn’t know why he was so surprised to see her. She was clad in a halter top and black jeans with a red lip, standing before shot glasses, pouring a honey-hued liquor, for some boy, with windswept hair curling at the nape. Some of his brown tresses brushed the edge of his _stamina_ rune embroidered on the plane of his sun-kissed skin. He was sitting lazily, with fitted dress pants that rode up his ankle when he shifted, and wore a white dress shirt—no tie. Jace had never seen him before. And he spoke to Maia relatively enough for her to have mentioned if she was seeing someone new, a Shadowhunter no less. But it certainly looked like it. He saw the crinkle by her eyes as he made her laugh, this Shadowhunter boy (certainly from the LA institute, if his sun-darkened skin was anything to go by) that had some constant liquidity about him, he looked unreal, like a dream but somehow more solid than Jace could ever hope to be. No doubt the affect of being in La La Land for so long.

Jace wondered if this was how the mundane would perceive Shadowhunters, if they ever un-glamoured before them. 

“Jace.” Maia said, bracing her hands against the stainless steel counter top, her face gleaming. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

The boy was looking at him, his jade-lake eyes narrowed, his expression utterly devoid of emotion. Jace smirked at him, and the gesture is received poorly, with the boy taking his drink before leaving Jace and Maia alone. 

“A friend of yours?” He asked. 

“Yeah,” she said, sheepishly. “I'm surprised you haven't met him yet, seeing as he's slumming it up with you New York Nephilim.” 

“Yeah, I've been staying clear of those Tinsel Town Tools.” 

"He's been living there for two years." 

"Yeah," Jace blinked. Then echoed, "I've been avoiding them for just as long." 

“Right." The bartender chuckled. "And you’d know he's a tool how...?” 

“I am one. We sense our own.” 

“Nice." Maia grinned. "So, tell me about this lovers quarrel with your parabatai. Simon and Izzy have been talking my ear off—” 

“Please,” Jace said, “don’t talk about that.” 

“Hey, I know already, cat’s out of the bag, etcetera, etcetera. You haven't made up yet?” 

“I thought you never really cared for Shadowhunter business.” 

“Not particularly, no. But this is about you and Alec, not the Clave." 

"Yeah. I don't know. I'm not really sure what's going on between us myself," Jace was at a loss for words, which was a novelty for him. He was a smooth-talker, usually knowing what to say and when to say it. But this was different. With Clary out of his life, and him and Alec at odds, it was hard to navigate what he was feeling, never mind trying to express them. "But don't worry about it. I'm not. He's kind of stuck with me for life," the blond lifted the hem of his dusky dress shirt to expose his _parabatai_ rune. "Everything will be right as rain; eventually. Besides, Alec's got a lot on his plate, between delegating the Downworld Cabinet, running an institute, and still managing to be present in his marriage." 

"Yeah. It must be hard on him." Maia added, "And you too." 

Jace shrugged, "I see him around," 

She gave him a pointed look. "Like two ships passing in the night. You know it's okay to say you miss him." 

Jace carded a hand through his golden tresses. "You're going to have to get me drunk to hear me say that one, Roberts." 

"Okay, well, I tried. Will you walk me to my cab, later? I'm off in an hour.” 

Jace glanced over his shoulder. Simon and his friend from the Academy, a dark-haired beauty with big brown eyes, were having a very pleasant conversation, and neither of them looked like they were going to leave very soon. In fact, Jace watched as they moved onto the dance-floor. “Yeah,” He said, turning to look at Maia. “Sure.” 

༄ 

“She doesn’t like me.” 

“I don’t know, it sounds like Beatriz liked you a lot.” 

Maia let out a sound that sounded like a _pssh_ and she said, “No.” Jace liked the way she said it, sometimes. _Naw._ Intentionally mocking. She didn’t have an accent at all but sometimes it felt like she was making fun of a version of herself that never left New Jersey. “No, it’s not—you saw her, dancing with Simon, yeah? She won’t ever do that with me. You know why?” 

“Because you don’t dance?” 

She laughed, a two tone bark. “No, no. I dance. It’s because—well. You know.” She gestured at her eyes, they flickered between a coffee grind brown to a neon green, and Jace understood. 

“Oh,” He said. “I didn’t think she was that kind of a person.” 

“Me neither,” Maia said, blinking her eyes back to brown. She scratched the back of her neck, gazed at the ground. “I don’t know if I’d have loved—liked—her if I knew. But it’s too late now.” She let out a dry, bitter laugh. “She’s got me under her, now.” 

The night felt heavy. Jace felt that he had to say something, but what the fuck do you tell someone who’s fallen in love with the wrong kind of person? Then again, envy pricked the back of his neck. At least she had something, some _one_ even if Beatriz was too ashamed to be seen with a lycanthrope. At least she’d ride her face so long as Maia kept her mouth shut. What did Jace have? A longing that felt like a burden, and a jealousy that made no sense. 

“You can’t get out?” He asked.

“You try telling no to a face like that,” Maia said, sighing. “Friggin' shadowhunters, man.” 

“Welcome to the Shadow World, ain't it grand?” Jace scoffed before muttering, “Deep-rooted xenophobia. How mundane." 

Maia laughed, lightly. "Where the fuck are the Angels when you need them to smite the bigots.” 

“Busy, perching on the shoulders of Mundies, writing down their sins on divine parchment,” Jace remarked, "Probably."

“Probably,” Maia parroted, mirthfully. And with sudden seriousness, she added, “Hey, what are you doing two nights from now?”

Jace blinked. Frowned. “Oh. Um. Look, Maia, I'm flattered and I know we're both down in the dumps right now, and _seriously_ running on a dry spell, but I thought we agreed that would be a one time thing?”

The curly-haired werewolf choked, slapped her chest, and was blinking furiously at the Shadowhunter. “No. I don’t—no. That’s—shut up." She let out a long, shaky breath. “No. You’re an acquired taste, okay? A taste I've finally, just recently, I'm talking maybe three weeks ago, acquired. So. We should hang out. _Platonically._ ”

"So kind of you to say," he deadpanned. "What an offer. How could I say no?" 

"I'm being serious." She said, under the streetlight. Cabs were far and few between, at this hour of the night, and they'd already been waiting for a dozen minutes. Maia finally perked up at the sight of one finally down the street. Jace raised a hand, summoning its attention. "Me and some friends of mine have movie marathons every Monday, Wednesday and Sunday nights. You should drop by, and bring Simon too." 

"No offense, but what's in it for me? Simon already forces me to watch those stupid, tone deaf horror movies every other night." 

"It's called broadening your horizons and meeting new people, Jace." She said, stealing a glance at the cab slowing to a park. Jace opened the backdoor for her, watching the bartender step inside it. Peering over her shoulder, she added, "And hey, maybe you'll run into Jules and he can debunk that baseless theory of yours that all Californians are tools. Which _is_ prejudice by the way."

"Yeah, yeah, just get home safe." Jace said, closing the door behind her. Watched as she lowered her window. 

"Thanks for waiting out for me. So, will you be there? We'll have _popcorn._ " 

"Tempting.” He answered. He bit his lower lip. “I'll think about it.” 

“I'll take that as a yes,” she said, triumphant. “Don't forget to invite Simon, too. I'll see you soon, Jace. Take care of yourself.” 

And then she was gone. 

Under the cloak of night and darkness, Jace Herondale thought of only one thing: _Who the fuck was Jules?_

༄ 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jace has a meet-cute with one of those 'Tinsel Town Tools' during a mission.

_From Maia 11:07 pm: Happy New Year, Jace Heron-Whatsit. Or is it Lightwood, now? Wayland? I can't keep up._

It was snowing, when Jace received Maia's wayward text. He was standing one foot out, where the world was open and everything seemed possible, and the other wedged between the entry doors of the Graveyard Shift. There was a joke in there about being a foot shy off death's door, he's sure. Leaning his shoulder against the fiberglass, steel, and wood, he responded, somewhat bemused.

 _From Jace 11:08 pm: Hardy-har. You couldn't have said this to my face?_

_From Maia 11:08pm: I was afraid that you'd steal a New Years kiss. No offense._

_From Jace 11:09pm: Full offense taken. I pride myself in the fact that I am, indeed, a gentleman. I would have_ asked _before planting one on you._

_From Maia 11:11pm: Oh? You mean like last time? LOL_

_From Maia 11:11pm: Jk. Just wouldn't want Beatriz to get the wrong idea, in case she walked out on us._

_From Jace 11:12pm: Right. Here's a crazy idea, why didn't you just stay back and steal a kiss with the missus, guarantying that she gets the right idea?_

_From Maia 11:13pm: I don't think she would have given me the chance to._

Jace, for the first time tonight, wondered if he, unlike Maia, could brave the storm. Take back this so-called 'life' he used to have. He had not shared a kiss, never mind bedded another woman, since Clary Fairchild. There had been sporadic dates, if he could even call them that. Almost kisses and moments with the undercurrent of _is-this-it?_ hanging over his head. Coupled with this were an abundance of obstacles, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that whispered to him, like sweet nothings, _you can't do this._ That the time he'd shared with Clary was to be treasured and ought to sustain him until the end of his days. There would be no one else.

"Simon says I need to do right by her," he said, much too loudly, looking heavenward, "so give me a sign that this is my chance to...move on. That if I do this, move on that is, You won't bring her back to me. That she really is lost to me forever, and I won't be riddled with guilt for it anymore." 

He held his breath, for what seemed like eons. Darting his peculiar swirl of blue and amber eyes around, to glimpse a glint of starlight, a leaf rattling in the wind, an angel falling from the sky. Anything. Everything. But nothing came. Blinking thrice, discouraged, his chest heaved as he loosed a tight breath out. "Okay," he murmured, to nobody but himself. "Celibacy it is." Shrinking back into the The Graveyard Shift, Jace had reckoned that no sign, was a sign within itself. And maybe, in a well-ordered universe, he would have found peace in this. Be on his merry way, if he'd not been within earshot of a raven-haired jogger, playing their music aloud. 

_So say goodbye to love and hold your head up high_

_There's no need to rush we're all just waiting, waiting to die_

_Hope in better place is all I need with moments of innocence and mystery_

_oh it's the little things you miss like waking up all alone_

_oh it's the little things you miss when you're underneath it all_

_So say goodbye to love and hold your head up high there's no need to rush we're all just waiting, waiting to die._

Jace always felt weird after praying, weird that the Angels really had their ears on whenever he did decide to do it. But for the very first time, he felt relief rush into him limbs, his heart expanded and relaxed. If he was looking for a sign, this was it. He smiled to himself softly, un-shed tears welling over his eyes. "Copy that, Haloes."

༄ 

Jace’s face was hot with champagne. On the back of his throat he could still taste the strange fizziness that came with drinking, and he was swaying happily near the island bar, hip resting on the counter, chatting away with this girl. Prudence, strawberry blonde hair—(close enough to redheads)—long legs, fur collar tickling her chin. He could hear someone yelling over the din of the party, _fifteen minutes! fifteen minutes!_ and Prudence and Jace looked at each other and Jace asked, offhandedly, if she’d ever been kissed on New Year’s Eve.

She laughed nervously and she brushed some of her apple blonde hair away from her forehead. She said, "No, I haven’t."

"Shame," he answered. He let the word hang in the air, and he liked this, liked being Jace Herondale, liked being what people thought of him, liked letting silences stretch out into a minute while perfectly sweet Fae burned under his champagne glazed eyes.

 _Fourteen minutes!_ Someone started counting down: _there's only fourteen minutes!_ Prudence looked at him, opened her mouth.

And then his phone rang.

She laughed again, still nervous and Jace wasn't sure if he was imagining the note of relief in her laughter. “You should get that,” she said, brightly. And before Jace could reply, she turned and headed to where people were thickest.

Sparing a glance at his phone, every nerve in his body seized up at the angelic sigil branded on his screen and on the heels of that, the order sent by the Head of the Institute. 

The inebriated blond's vision swam before him, almost prompting him to keel over as he stepped and stumbled forward. Gaining his wits about himself, he reached out for his stele before scanning the _vigilance_ , _acceleration_ and _clarity_ runes imprinted on his forearms. When his sight realigned itself with the world, he dashed for the entry, hand on the pommel of his blade.

༄ 

The whole world outside was quiet with snow, by the time he made it deep, deep in the woods, where starlight barely grazed the ground, where the sounds of the woodland drowned out the steady pulse in his ear, there was a den. An outcropping of rock, jutting out from the molting underbrush of the greenwood. The smell of wet earth rising all around, the whispers of the diamond dust rushing to blanket the soil. Such a lonely place, yet thriving with life. 

_An apt hiding spot for a Greater Demon_ , Jace thought, grimly.

He looked around, scanned the area with his Seraph blade—and he spotted nothing. Wherever the abomination was hiding now, it wasn’t here. Not yet, anyhow. 

Ten minutes of tracking, asking around the few mundanes strolling down the park if they'd seen anything weird. He’d thought it to be easier, to find the thing, who Jace remembered it to be arrogant, and obnoxious, always easily pickable in a crowd. And now Jace couldn’t even find it in the midst of a forest with little to no signs of human life. He thought it would be easier than this, seeing as how the Greater Demon, Azazel—who so desperately wanted to be noticed would be a little more easier to, well, notice. 

Jace sat down on a tree stump, and swept his stele over his _stamina_ rune. Already in the six weeks since the Greater Demon was rumored to be seen, it built a reputation for itself, as being cunning, clever, ruthless. Attacking Mundanes that wandered a little too far, killing emissaries and minor diplomats from the Clave with insufficient security. Relations had been suffering. Never attacking the Institutes, not directly, but Jace knew it was bound to happen, sooner or later. He’d read enough Clave reports to come to that conclusion himself. So far, finesse hadn’t worked on the Lieutenant of Hell. Any Shadowhunters sent to eliminate him had never come back. Sending warlock units by the dozens also didn’t seem to work, and Jace wondered how long the Clave’s top brass thought that they could try and outfox the Prince of Hell. 

He breathed the air around him, the night's chill a welcome relief to his tight skin. Years ago, it had taken some doing, to try and convince Alec to let him do this alone, but after days and days of arguing that Jace’s plan was foolproof—it wasn’t—and Jace knew exactly what he was getting into—he didn’t—and that he’d accounted for every risk and possibility—he didn’t—that Alec finally, finally, let him try and track down the summoned Greater Demon on his own, only to turn around and off Azazel's corporeal form himself.

Jace wasn't bitter. At the time, it was a quick and easy fix. An arrow blown swiftly between the T8 and T9 vertebrae, a place so small, making it very difficult to locate the specific spot that could affect him. Of course, he was proud. His _parabatai_ had killed him, in one shot. Or so they'd thought. Greater Demons could not be permanently destroyed, there was only temporary destruction that could shatter their corporeal forms into a million pieces between the worlds, where its ethereal body existed. Albeit, it usually took them centuries to reform and rebuild its physical form, however they eventually did. It didn't take long for the institute to gather Intel that he must had been summoned or forced to reform, to surface top side once again, two years later, which was in the grand scheme of things, no time at all. Shortly after that, Azazel had begun wreaking havoc on the Shadow World and the Mundies they'd sworn to protect. Slipping into the shadows, plotting, waiting, _watching_ —

Speaking of. Someone’d been watching Jace for a while. He stiffened, just a bit, and the person who’d been watching the blond made his presence known, as he walked into the Shadowhunter’s peripheral view. Soundless, almost, as Jace could barely hear the crack of the sheet of ice and snow under the footsteps. 

Jace peered under the night sky, half-expecting to see a demon-child, full-feral, naked, on all-fours. Something strange. He should’ve known better, of course. It had taken weeks to track the Greater Demon, and that was with every survival tip and trick Jace had picked up in all his years.

So, of course, this was not what—or rather, _who_ —the great swordsman was expecting. A man, now, or nearing it, with skin kissed by the sun. It was hard to gauge, in the low light, how much was familiar, from what little Jace remembered of him. But there was some that had branded itself into his memory, unknowingly. Lush hair swooped by an ocean born breeze with plush lips as full and soft as blooming petals. If Jace was a man of flowers, with daisy skin and lily white hands, this man was the whole friggin' Garden, pouring with life to the naked eye—both the beginning and end of innocence.

"You look a little spooked." The man remarked, and his voice was a cold shock.

“Well, there is a Greater Demon on the loose,” Jace reminded, lightly. His own voice husky with disuse. 

“You're in the middle of the woods, Greater Demon on your tail. And you don’t kill me on sight?” The man said, feigning curiosity. “I thought you New Yorkers were supposed to be ruthless. Kill first, ask questions later.” 

“Haven't you heard? It's a brave new world,” Jace said, careful to keep his own voice even and measured as the Californian's runes gleamed in the moonlight. "We're trying things the boring way, now. What's the saying? Prevention is better than cure. It's all a bunch of horseshit, if you ask me.”

The Shadowhunter clad in a nifty attire, grinned, and Jace felt something utterly _horrifying_ churn in his stomach. Like embers after an explosion, or a fire begging to start. “Funny,” He stated simply, voice smooth as stone, and Jace could see his clear eyes narrow into slits beneath the cloak of night and shadow. "Herondale, right?" 

“Depends on who you ask,” Jace was quick to reply, like it was a perfectly serviceable answer. “Got away from you too?" 

"Like sand slipping through fingers." He quipped. And then it happened way too quickly for Jace to parse. The man moved at him, whip-quick, and Jace barely managed to get up in time, still feeling the aftereffects of the champagne thrumming gently at his fingertips, when the Tinsel Town Tool was at his feet. "You're Robbie's friend, right?"

"Robbie? I don't know any Robbies, man. Unless you're referring to Robert Lightwood, who I can't even begin to imagine would condone a nickname as— _Oh!_ Robbie. As in _Roberts_. Right. Well, um I don't think...I think Maia would sooner describe me as friend-of-a-friend," Jace stammered before adding, "Heron-dick on most days. She says I'm an acquired taste. Whatever that means."

"That means you're in her good graces," he said, amusement filtering in his eyes, though his face remained grim. Jace had an inkling that his lack of expression was of normal occurence. "I'm fluent in Maia Roberts. Julian. Julian Blackthorn."

_So, this was the infamous Jules._ "Blackthorn, huh? You wouldn't be the same Blackthorn, Emma Carstairs makes a point to talk Alec's ear off about whenever she hunts him down, would you?" 

Julian nodded, jaw taut. If Jace didn't know any better, he was embarassed. "She's my parabatai." He revealed. "I'm sure she's familiar with you too, actually." 

"Probably." Jace said, with utmost confidence. Which won him another smirk by the Los Angeles native.

A long, long pause. Julian was friendly enough (okay, maybe not friendly, but he was holding a conversation which was great progress compared to their earlier interraction), Jace knew this, but he still felt something like anxiety, a thought that came into being without scarcely knowing why— _something's coming, something's coming_ —curling up in his gut. But before he could say anything else, or make a hasty exit, something _did_ happen.

Voices. Loud, obnoxious voices punctuated the silence that permeated around the two Shadowhunters. 

_Sixty!_

“Hell of a way to start the New Year,” Jace remarked, almost breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Julian said, rubbing his hands together. "It's fucking freezing out here, too. I don't think I'll ever get used to the cold. How are you not shivering right now?"

Jace swallowed, and watched the motion of his hands with fascination. “I find ways to keep warm."

_Thirty-four, thirty-three, thirty-two, thirty-one…_

“Yeah?” Julian said. “Any tips and tricks you'd like to share with the class, Herondale?” 

“Trade secret. No can do." 

"Cold." Julian said, again that flat voice. But there was an undercurrent of something else, too. “Guess I'll just have to figure it out on my own, huh?" 

_Twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty three…_

“Guess so,” Jace echoed. 

Julian scoffed, and letting his hands grip Jace’s forearm. “Feel this,” He said. 

_...fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…_

“By the Angel,” Jace said, leaning away from him. “Okay that's...pretty cold. Your hands.”

"Told you so. Now, do you feel even remotely bad that you don't want to save me from this frozen-over hell?"

Jace chuckled. "Melodramatic, much? How long have you been here, like what, two years? And you're still not used to the weather?"

"You try spending your entire upbringing directly under the sun only to be later _thrusted_ into this...this winter _hellscape_ , and then keep talking. By the way, I'm surprised you even noticed I've been at the institute for that long. I never see you around."

Jace shrugged. "I'm surprised _you_ noticed that _I'm_ never around."

Julian raised his brows as though saying _touché,_ , and pulled his hands away from Jace’s arms, like he didn’t know what they were doing there in the first place. But Jace, for reasons beyond him, shook his head and—

_Six. Five. Four._

—took a step forward, into his orbit—

_three…_

—and Jace repeated, stupidly, “You're cold.”

_...two._

Wordlessly, Jace put his own hands on either sides of Julian's cheeks, onto his bare skin. 

_One._

When Julian spoke again, his voice was deeper than Jace was expecting. "I've never kissed anyone on New Year".

“Me neither,” Jace said, unthinkingly. 

“You mean _the_ Jace Herondale has never shared a New Year's kiss with anyone? Don't believe it.”

Jace let out a breathless, one-note laugh. “Believe it." He said, "It's more of a mundane tradition, anyway."

As though on cue, iridescent fireworks exploded, painting the night sky purple, blue, green, red, red, red, red.

"Think we could borrow it, just for tonight." Julian said, his lips only a hairsbreadth away. Jace could practically taste them. Would he? It'd been so long, bordering on eternity, that he'd kissed anyone else, that he'd wanted to. Too long since he'd experienced true longing, the desire of someone else. Someone that wasn't Clary.

But the way Julian was looking at him, it was as if he were mapping him — tracing Jace in his mind. And the thought of his eyes drawing the outline of his face, his eyes, his nose, lips, sent a frisson of pleasure all the way through Jace's body. His skin was electrified by the thought of Julian's eyes studying him — 

And he didn't know why, but something about the intimacy of that — Jace couldn't stop himself. He took the back of the Californian's head and drew him in for a kiss. 

༄ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Song lyrics are from Waiting by City and Colour  
> \- Full credit for the greater demon knowledge goes to the Shadowhunter (TV) and the books!
> 
> And, to those that have asked: yes, this is an ongoing series! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always great motivators xx


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When one door closes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey-o, I know this chapter has become something of a long-time-coming due to an unprecedented hiatus but now that everything is settled I can focus on writing this fic. First things first, this is no longer a Jace Herondale x OC fic, this is a _**Jace Herondale x Julian Blackthorn fic**_ for the reason simply being that my OC's physical description aligned too much with Julian's and I thought, why bother when I can just put Julian? Esp after reading QOAAD and reading all those Jace and Julian scenes (albeit far and few between) was enough to sail this ship (for myself.) I truly hope this bodes well for everyone. With that being said, I would urge those that already read C1 and C2, to re-read them, since there has been a few things that I've altered in the dialogue + added name swaps.

༄ 

All desire carried a degree of violence, and this had been no different.

Would he ever kiss a man like this again? Mercilessly, unforgiving. As his tongue played gently with the Los Angeleno, Jace realized that he hoped so — it was delicious kissing a man. Despite being with different people in all his years, of all walks of life, of clans, and realms, he'd somehow never gotten around to being with a man. Not an explicit choice on his part, but one made by chance and forged out of unconscious circumstances. But this was different, hot. 

Even as they separated, they held eye-contact for a few moments more. "Do you want to get out of here?" Julian asked.

It was a simple question, yet Jace found himself feeling scared, and excited, and incredibly turned on, and... 

"We don't have to, if you don't want to. We can stay here, if you'd like." He heard, still that blank tone, but this time...apprehension coupled with it. If Jace knew any better, he'd reckon that Julian Blackthorn was just as nervous as he felt. The swordsman could feel a dreamy state start to overcome him once again, like a mist descending — trapping him inside these walls, with no other option but to give himself to this man with luscious hair that brushed his sharp jaw, to this moment, and render himself subject to whatever might happen next. 

"Yes," he managed, and as his gaze bore through Julian, it was all he could do not to lean into him that slight amount that would make Jace, his. He wanted so badly to be his — to be the centre of his attention, to be his entire focus, to be his subject. "It really is freezing out here."

"Yeah," was all he said. And just like that he broke the eye contact, and moved away — far away it seemed, before he grabbed his stele and motioned for Jace to grab his own. "Let's go." As quick as light, the two Shadowhunters ignited their acceleration runes, and shared one more meaningful look charged with tension and sheer desire before they dashed toward the institute. Shouldering pass the remnant, staggering Shadowhunters that were still working during their night shift. What came next was a blur, making out in the elevator—and stopping when Raj walked in and spared both Jace and Julian curious glances until _ding,_ they were finally, finally on Jace's floor. 

"Happy New Year, man." Julian wished Raj over the curve of his shoulder as he and Jace strode out the lift. Raj only looked at him, slightly peeved, until the elevator door's slammed shut. Julian tilted his head to the side, as though assessing his previous interaction with the haughty Shadowhunter, before turning back to Jace. "What a prick." 

"Believe me when I say, you don't even know the half of it." Jace answered, between a crooked grin. He started forward, gripping Julian's shirt back to him. All he wanted was his lips on him again, and again, and again.

"Right." Julian cocked his brow up. "Where were we?" 

Jace didn't even need to answer. Didn't have time to slip a word in, seeing as Julian's mouth was already crashing into his. Jace snaked his arms around his neck, and tried to kiss him with an equal measure of fervor, until his breath was stolen for it. Julian caught the blond's full, bottom lip between his teeth, prompting a gasp from Jace, before the latter deepened their kiss. Sliding his tongue between his teeth, Jace thought, _fuck, I've missed this._ Let himself think it. He missed intimacy, terribly, hungrily, and he thought of it again. Thought about Julian, and the swirling blue hue in his eyes in the light, the moss green in the dark, thought about the flash of his Californian skin, the taste of his clavicle. Jace could think about this all night, knew he would at the light of day. Was thinking about it _right now_ , until he felt Julian's hands roam to his waist. Backing him against his bedroom's door, then wedged his knee between his legs to pin him there. 

Jace could feel every inch of the Blackthorn boy pressed against him—the planes of his hard chest, Julian's arms wrapped around his waist, his length pressed against his thigh. Jace tightened his arms around the dark-haired Shadowhunter, and drew his tongue into his mouth to suck on it. 

A low, husky groan from Julian. With an effort, he broke free from Jace's mouth just long enough to gasp, "Herondale, please, open the door before I fuck you right against it."

Jace shivered at his words. "O-okay." He murmured, turning "Just let me get my stele." 

He let out a shaky breath, once Julian released him. The gifted Shadowhunter didn't know how he managed to find his stele with Julian's body melded against his. Julian had wrapped one arm loosely around his waist; the other against the door by Jace's head. Jace could feel the heat of his gaze without even looking at him—burning into him, stripping him bare. 

As Jace tinkered with his stele, drawing the _open_ rune over the knob, and almost thanked the Angel for blessing him with the gift, before Julian pressed his lips to the nape of his neck. "You know, I've never done it on New Year's."

Jace twisted around to peck him with a quick kiss. "Me neither," he breathed, and pulled back with a smile. "Welcome to my humble abode."

The moment the door was opened, Julian's lips were back on Jace's. Hot, heavy, hungry. He kissed him with a needy desperation and an edge of possessiveness all rolled into one. Jace dropped his stele and glamoured blade as Julian kicked the door shut behind them. His hands left Jace's waist to pull at his dress shirt, and the swordsman helped to shrug it off. Still kissing Jace, Julian hooked one hand below his knee, lifting his leg to wrap around his waist. Jace was startled, not only at the Blackthorn boy's strength but at how much he could feel him, hot and hard, as he ground himself against his core. Jace moaned into his mouth and felt rather than heard the vibration of his responding groan. 

Jace's hands slid up Julian's chest to undo the buttons on his shirt. He was lean, not overtly muscular, built like a runner. And his _shoulders..._ by the Angel, were they broad. 

Julian wrenched his lips away from Jace to pepper open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, before he dipped down to the hollow of his neck as his hands mapped down his spine, across his back. Every touch was confident, bold, the kind Jace tried but couldn't fake. Julian's teeth grazed his neck, a slight sting, followed by the hot slide of his tongue to soothe it. It wrenched a whimper out of Jace, before he slid his hands down to undo Julian's pants. 

As Jace's hand brushed his erection, he groaned, long and and low into the slope of his neck. Subsequently, Julian kissed his way up to Jace's ear before lingering, just a moment, so that he could whisper, "Get on the bed."

There was no power in Julian's tone, no force. No deep snarl or great depth. And Jace was nowhere near cowering with intimidation or fear but he had blinked, half-surprised by the sheer command in his words. He drew Julian down to him and kissed him deeply before he sighed, and rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance. "Bossy."

Julian slowly lifted his head and loosened his grip around Jace. "Believe me, you don't even know the half of it."

This excited Jace enough to shimmer out of his pants, letting them pool around his ankles before kicking them off completely, somewhere near his black dress shirt. Until suddenly, he felt...nervous. It _had_ been awhile. And despite this not being his first time, certainly not with a Shadowhunter, it was the first time that would count since... _no._ He would not think about her tonight. The Angels had willed him not to. Quickly, he regained his composure. And by the time he was stripped down to only his briefs, he turned to look at Julian, who was now pointing to his bed. 

“Lie down," he said, kind but uncompromising, "close your eyes."

Jace turned and slid onto the bed. Closed his eyes. He could feel his heart thumping against his skin. “Now what?” 

He felt more than he could see Julian's penetrative gaze. Moving ever so slowly, as if studying a natural phenomenon, the Californian began to circle his bed, moving round to his left. Jace's head was headfirst against a plush pillow, arms plaited beneath it, he couldn't see him — and only now did he realize just how vulnerable he'd made himself. Julian could do anything to him, and he found himself realizing that he'd let him. "Now?" Julian queried, with a hint of smugness. "I watch."

Jace's heart stuttered. "What? You're not going to touch me?" He asked, equally appalled for how desperate he sounded, and at Julian's words.

"Now, when did I say that?" He heard him answer, with lilt. Julian scanned the room around him before his focus point was on a faraway chair that he sought out. Seating himself, he faced the gaping boy on the bed, whose eyes were still closed and arms were still crossed beneath his head. "I need to get ready first. And I love a nice view, while doing just that."

“I don't know, Julian...I....” Jace groped for words, blinking his eyes open before drawing himself upright on his elbows. “I've never done that before."

"Done what?" He prompted, sheathing his hands beneath the waistband of his undergarment. "Jerked off?"

Jace blushed at his crudeness, feeling like an inexperienced Mundie. "No. I-I've never done _that_ while someone else, you know, watched."

"You haven't done a lot of things, Herondale." Julian grinned, before he added, "At least, that seems to be a theme in tonight."

"That's not fucking funny," Jace grunted, cheeks flushed. 

"Okay, okay," he relented as he began to visibly stroke himself. Julian watched Jace with a newfound expression. "We won't do anything you don't want to. All I'm saying is that we could either do this hard and fast for a moment. Or. We could take our time, which I would much prefer." Julian tilted his head. "So, which is it? What do _you_ want?"

Jace contemplated this, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. Before, "I want...I want what you want."

Seemingly delighted, Julian stopped stroking himself and climbed into the bed after Jace, crawling beside him, hand propped against his cheek. "Yeah?" He said, with labored breath, as his finger danced around Jace's waistband before running his fingers up his thigh and looking at Jace like he were made of quicksilver. Of the night sky. Of starlight. Jace left knee bent automatically at the touch, as if his knee itself knew to open for him. Like his legs could decide to spread all by themselves. Like it weren't even up to him. 

It wasn't fair, how good this felt. Cheeky bastard — Jace could practically hear that sideways fucking smile. And somehow, he was having to consciously stop himself from sliding Julian's hand into the crease of his briefs. Was he really this easy? A few dizzying kisses and Jace was all but ready to spread eagle for this random stranger? Granted, the stranger was obnoxiously beautiful. And that was saying something, coming from Jace. But god, he touched Jace with the expression that of a painter, a true artist. Really, how could he resist? Jace felt fingernails insisting on stroking the soft innermost portion of his thigh, moving excruciatingly into — _fuck_ — he felt his whole body clutch in pleasure.

But he relented to Julian's fingers. He let them slide all the way along the elastic that pressed snug against his sensitive skin, a defensive wall against intrusion, shielding him softness from prying fingers that wanted always to slip underneath, scramble over, or press fervently against the limited defences of a thin strip of cotton. God. Jace's back arched and his hips tilted, trying to position Julian's fingers exactly where they weren't meant to go. His calloused fingertips against his milk white briefs made his stomach flutter — a wave of heat sweeping through him.

"Julian -" Jace half-whimpered his name before he shivered, even as another heatwave swept across him, rising in his chest and crashing into his cock like a surf break. By the Angel, his briefs were so thin it was like he were wearing nothing at all. Like the palm of Julian's hand was palming directly against his cock, his fingers were stroking the channel into his briefs now, the , and Jace could feel the heat emanating from the other side of the flimsy barrier as Julian moved there, lying between his legs. Kissing his innermost thighs. The left one. Then the right one. His voice soft, telling him what he was going to do to him even as his grip held Jace like a vice. So strong, he was helpless, he'd tease Jace — about to do what he needed him to do, but not quite doing it... Breathing warm air directly onto his barely covered nether-regions.

Jace'd look down and saw his face, his beautiful mouth, his hard jaw, piercing blue-green eyes, like a movie star. And when, eventually, he'd slowly dip his head towards his soft wet briefs, and ever so lightly draw his tongue along the little channel he'd made Jace make for him, it was like a fantasy. Like a god was going down on him. Worshipping him like he was the deity, the thing of fantasy...

Fuck. A hard jolt ripped through him. He was further along than he'd realized. Already his hips were making subtle circles, encouraging Julian to give him what he needed, to swirl incessantly around cock, while his tongue played with him so gently, but so insistently. Jace'd known from the very first time to just let him have him — that he wasn't going to stop. Not till he'd gotten what he wanted. Not till he'd broken on him. Till he'd seen him strain, and gasp, and arch his back, pushing himself hard against Julian's hard jaw, crashing against the thrashing of his tongue.

Jesus Christ. How the fuck did he manage to go without sex, for so long? He felt his hips push up at Julian's nudging tongue, still lightly caressing him through his soft fabric. And it was too much, so much so that he couldn't stop himself from pushing the tiny scrap of material to the side — feeling the wet cotton slide across his length and — oh! His body lurched again in response, and now all he wanted was what his body — still — expected to have happen next.

His legs were spread wide and Jace glimpsed Julian parting his lips slightly, taking a bit of the head inside his mouth, and waves of pleasure rolled through Jace's body, interspersed with the occasional jolt of ecstasy. The first glimpses of the destination he was getting carried closer and closer towards. He felt, distantly, Julian's calloused hands on his smooth calves, his juice shining on his chin, seeing him through his wide spread thighs, his eyes closed with passion. Jace could all but groan as Julian took him in slowly. He was thick, and felt his mouth fill up quickly and only only halfway down his length. He ran his tongue around the underside of him and pulled back. And sucked as he returned to the head. It was madness, how his tongue drew small circles on the slit, lapping up the beads of pre-cum. 

Jace threw his head back. "Holy shit." 

Julian hummed out a response, causing him to groan as the vibrations hit his cock.

Jace ground himself deeper into his mouth, to keep a constant presence in his plush lips that pulled the overflowing juice from Jace's cock, to suck deliriously around his pleasure, then pausing without warning. Continuing. Then not. Then lapping around him again. Never letting him get used to it. He would just take from him randomly, like he didn't give a shit if he were ready, or care what he wanted. Like he were a mere plaything for his amusement, a toy for him to do what he wanted with, a cheap chattel, pretty but ultimately worthless, for him to take out his momentary desire on...

Pulling Jace's right leg over his shoulder, he gave himself to him fully. Sunk into his domination of him. And now Julian had him fully spread, his undergarment pushed out of his way, his perfectly manscaped cock splayed open and inviting. Somehow, after how much care he'd taken to prepare him, to get Jace absolutely dripping with wetness, Julian's recklessness made Jace shake with pleasure. Now, riding waves of intense feeling he could no longer control, Jace allowed his left hand to grip the back of Julian's head. 

And now the rhythm was unstoppable. He was getting taken, his own pleasure, on a ride that had only one destination.

He was so close he couldn't breathe. All he could do was roll his hips around Julian's mouth, letting his other hand plunge in the depths of his hair, while Julian laid his intense gaze on him. Penetrating Jace's defences. So strong and resolute and uncompromising — like he was fucking him. Jace watched his cock push in and out past Julian's clinging lips and knew, somehow on a level beneath reason that there was no going back. This was the next phase of his life, the chapter after Clary. One door closing, and another opening wide open. He'd waited two years for this. Waited two years for the soul-crushing weight he bared on his heart to ease, his world-worn body to feel...release. No longer would he be falling on his own sword, Atlas carrying the world.

A moment ensued, and under Julian's intent gaze, Jace nodded, mouth agape. "Please."

༄ 

Jace gave a long, helpless groan and fell headlong onto the pillow behind him, wrung out and only semi-conscious, trying to get his breath back. He felt his chest rise and fall, the perspiration on his skin, the wetness he'd left in the sheets, his legs reduced to mush. He felt deliciously destroyed, ripped apart and yet finally whole again. And for some time he stayed there, letting every last ripple of pleasure own him — wondering if he'd ever be the same again. 

"That was," he said before he could stop himself, "incredible."

He heard the Blackthorn Boy let something of a scoff out beside him, but he didn't say anything. Which willed Jace to pry open his amber gaze, to look at the boy that made him feel...everything, at once. Julian was by him, arm propped beneath the sidelong of his face. An indescribable expression on his face, the look in his eye... he was beautiful, but hard to read. 

"I can do something," Jace said, without preamble. "For you."

He was desperate for him to say something. To give some kind of approbation. To tell Jace, he was beautiful. To tell him this would never happen again. Just to know what he was thinking. Something. 

"I'm good, besides, you kind of looked like you needed that more than me," he said simply, before pecking Jace with a final, chaste kiss. Soon after, he was peeling back the molten gold covers, slipping out of the sheets leaving Jace looking somewhat bemused.

"Are you leaving?" The New Yorker asked, looking up at him with large, doe eyes.

"We still have work tomorrow, Herondale. " Julian replied, "And as much as this was fun, I'd still like to get some sort of rest before morning."

Jace swallowed. "Right." Shit. Did he regret this already?

Julian's brows knit, concerned. He whirled around to look at Jace, an earnest expression painted on his face. "Is...that's okay, right?"

"Who do you think I am? Of course it is." Jace dismissed. "Why would you ask me that?"

Julian shrugged before his jade-lake eyes swept the room to locate his clothes. "I don't know. I thought maybe you'd want me to spend the night or something."

"I'm fine," Jace answered, shortly. He could feel a certain burning at the back of his eyes, a disconcerting sensation that he hadn't felt in a long while. What was wrong with him? Before Clary, he was notorious for one night stands. No-strings-attached situationships were his thing, so why did it feel like his entire world had spun off its axis, once more? 

"Okay," Julian remarked before slipping into his briefs and extracting his pants off the floor. "That's good. Well, I guess I'll see you around?"

"Maybe," Jace was quick to reply, then scorned himself for it. _Say something,_ he thought. "Maia invited me to some totally mundane, movie night thing. She said you'd be there."

"Was there a question in there, somewhere?" He answered while shrugging into his pants and slipped on his dress shirt, buttoning only very few clasps closed before looking at Jace with tousled hair and kiss-swollen lips. 

Jace rolled his eyes. "Will you be there?"

"Do you want me to be?"

"Do you always answer everything with a question?"

A quick, flash of a smile. "Heh. Yeah, I'll probably be there Jace. Will you?"

"Maybe," 

"How mysterious." Julian remarked, dryly, before gazing at Jace earnestly. Jace was slightly alarmed by how serious that gaze was until the other boy added, "I'll see you around, yeah?"

Julian's hair was disheveled, sex hair at its finest. His lush lips still pink from all the sensual, bruising kisses they'd shared tonight, and then some. He was a distraction. From the weird, flaming shitpile that was essentially Jace's life. He was everything he needed right now.

"Sure." He said, while something stirred in his chest.

A flicker of something he couldn't quite name.

༄ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and if you truly enjoyed, make sure to comment below. xx

**Author's Note:**

> Things to know:
> 
> _\- All remaining survivors of LA institute have moved into the NY institute indefinitely_
> 
> _\- The Sizzy trajectory is parallel to the one in the show (NOT the books) i.e. they started dating in 3B (that would be, in headcanon, only two years ago.)_
> 
> _\- The Malec trajectory is parallel to the one in the show (NOT the books) i.e. they're married!_
> 
> _\- The jimon trajectory is parallel to the one in the show (SORT OF...but more on this later)_
> 
> _\- Maia never started her own restaurant after the Jade Wolf closed down_
> 
> Comment below, if you enjoyed! xx  
> Until next time...


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